Sloane, Author at The STUFF Sisters

Precision & Grace

It seems like every profession has a contingent of people who rally against it. Lawyers have a bad rap. Car dealers. The list goes on and on. I have even had people tell me to my face – while standing in my business – that retailers are the worst.

It seems like every profession has a contingent of people who rally against it. Lawyers have a bad rap. Car dealers. The list goes on and on.

I have even had people tell me to my face – while standing in my business – that retailers are the worst. They are “greedy bastards” just in it for the money. “No ethics.” “Stickin’ it to the little guy.”

That’s not what I do. That’s not what my sister does. And that is not what the amazing and dedicated artists we represent do. Their desire to be in their studios perfecting hand craft makes it so that all of us can enjoy affordable art in our homes and on our bodies.

That dedication and happiness was seen in our store this past Saturday, the first of four such Saturdays in “ARTober”. Rachelle Pulkilla wowed us for hours with her work – sparks flying at times! – and her spirit. She is a metalsmith and jeweler and each piece is unique.

Somewhere in the middle of her time with us, I heard little voices I recognized, and there stood our friend Kari Heybrock and her three children. They were thrilling to watch as they took in what Rachelle was doing and making. Her oldest, a seven-year-old, was asking very detailed questions. They help their mother in her studio occasionally, and this next Saturday we will be watching Kari make her magic with molten glass, two torches, precision and grace. She’s brought her studio to STUFF before, and we are ecstatic to have her back.

What blows me away is that, at every one of these events, artists we represent come out and support the other artists while they are “in studio” with us. To say the customers love it would be an understatement.

These are the weekends I live for. The ones where it all comes together … where we all come together. This is why I do what I do for a living. There is nothing greedy about it.

p.s. You can find out more about Kari, Rachelle and ARTober right here.

Eight Year Olds Love to Party

She stood there holding the plastic-encased sheet cake in tiny hands. Her eyes were huge as I opened the door, and she looked up at me with bright blue eyes and said, “Lala, this is a bar!”

She stood there holding the plastic-encased sheet cake in tiny hands. Her eyes were huge as I opened the door, and she looked up at me with bright blue eyes and said, “Lala, this is a bar!” as she confidently crossed the threshold into what she had been told would be a restaurant. “I’ve never been to a bar,” were her next words – spoken quietly and more to herself than to me.

She continued her comments as we walked toward the room dedicated to our party and got settled. She had been with me since I picked her up from school 90 minutes earlier, and she was already running the show. I was delighted to have been delivered of a leader – at a grade school! – so late in the day. I needed the help, and her excitement was contagious.

“Is this our place?”

“Is it a bar or a restaurant?”

“This is really nice. Look at the pillows.”

“Should we put the cake and cards here?”

“Will they light the candles on all the tables?”

“This whole room is for Uncle Harl?”

“Can I help hand out the favors?”

Last week was a week like no other in recent history. My work life was overfull, my time with my son was at an all-time low due to his schedule and mine, every evening had harbored an event, and the whole week was to culminate in a celebration of my husband’s fifty years on Earth.

I clearly needed the help of someone younger and full of energy. I found her waiting for me in the carpool line already in her party dress and shiny sandals. We whisked off to the grocery store for the cake I had never thought to order, having prayed since noon that extra cakes could be found at my grocer. Plates and forks would be needed as well, and who better than an enthusiastic niece to make these decisions? She got a little tripped up on the math of how many sets of plates we would need to reach 50 if they came in sets of eight. “It would be easier with paper and a pencil. Just give me a minute.” As she thought the multiplication and division through, she found sets of 10 plates, and that made the decision so swift.

Special “number” candles were chosen, chocolate or white cake was debated, icing patterns were deliberated, and we were in the car headed to the restaurant within 20 minutes.

However, it was her decision on how to get her uncle’s name on the cake that makes me smile even now. It was found in the cracker aisle: Scrabble Cheez-its.

Always perfect with chocolate cake.

p.s. Bistro 303 is a restaurant and a bar. It is one of my favorite places in town, even after Derrick gave my niece a butcher knife when she went in search of something to cut the cake with. Well, a butcher knife and a Bic lighter for the big 5 and 0. She truly is a Girl Scout – no cuts and no burns!

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

I was frustrated last night. Angry frustrated. I wanted to walk in a charity walk with my Dad, and everything in my life conspired against me all afternoon and into the evening. I didn’t have a pity party, but I did throw a private hissy fit.

I was frustrated last night. Angry frustrated. I wanted to walk in a charity walk with my Dad, and everything in my life conspired against me all afternoon and into the evening. When I called him to finally tell him I just wasn’t going to make it, I got my stepmom on the phone. My voice broke when admitting I wasn’t going to make it. I didn’t have a pity party, but I did throw a private hissy fit. It went something like this:

Why is this city getting so big and busy that I can’t get to Corporate Woods in 20 minutes at the end of rush hour?

Why would a charity hold an event on a Friday night and have it begin at 6:30? Don’t they know people own businesses that don’t close at 5pm?

Why did I have a child? Didn’t I know he would grow up and have a busy life and need rides?

Why did I marry a man who is always busy with his own small business?

Why can’t I just do what I want to do and not have so many people demanding so much of me? Don’t they know I just want to walk in the dark with my Dad and remember his incredible journey through cancer? Don’t they know I want to hold a delicately glowing balloon in the quiet of a wooded suburban setting?

Then the moon came out. The biggest, most beautiful moon of the year so far. By that time of my night, I was back at my business sneaking in a few important tasks between car rides for my young man. I stepped out into our back alley to get something out of the car and was blown away by the brightness of the night sky. Then I saw the monster moon. I turned, locked the door to the store, and walked around the block.

Quietly. Slowly. In the glowing night. By myself. And, in every way, my Dad was there with me while I quickly put the hissy fit to bed.

p.s. At the end of the evening, I realized I was where I was supposed to be last night. When my final pick-up of the golden child occurred, the first thing he said to me was, “Mom, did you see that moon?” I told him that indeed I had and that I had bathed in her amazing powers. That’s when I got the look that only a sixteen year old can grant.

p.p.s. I know you’ve been humming The Stones while you read this. That makes me smile!

Peace In The Noise

Yesterday I pretty much lost it at the intersection of 47th and Main Street. Yes, it was rush hour. Yes, it’s a busy intersection. Yes. Yes. Yes. Whatever.

Yesterday I pretty much lost it at the intersection of 47th and Main Street. A gaggle of geese decided to cross the busy intersection. And they were doing a darned fine job of staying within the cross walk, if the painter of said lines had been into jaywalking. They were lovely and in lockstep with their mission.

Some jerk – several, in fact – decided they didn’t have time to wait for them to finish crossing and proceeded with the lights to curve tightly around the birds. The birds just stood still until they had passed and started walking again. No squawking. No flight. No bird hurt.

Just me in my car fighting back tears that could not be contained. Yes, it was rush hour. Yes, it’s a busy intersection. Yes. Yes. Yes. Whatever. This was a chance for everyone within eyesight to take a moment, watch nature overcoming engineering, and wait for the magic to end.

Yes. I know this is an owl in a geese story. Casey and I spotted it less than an hour after I sat in peace with the geese. Look at how peaceful.

I have stated before, in older blogs, that I do not condone driving and crying. It’s dangerous. So I kind of stopped crying when it was time to press on the pedal, but several tears wouldn’t stay lidded up. They needed to finish, and it gave me time to process where these emotions in me were coursing from.

I work hard. Most people do. I work – and play – at a speed that thrills me. Most people do. However, I am embracing more and more the peace that can be found in the noise. When a funeral procession is moving toward me, I pull over and live in the peace of a few minutes remembering those in my life who have been escorted in darkened and cooled hearses. When an ambulance is roaring behind me, I pull over and remember a sister whose last ride was in a brightly lit boxy vehicle manned by professionals.

And when geese cross the road – the road that is leading me to my work and all that my life has in store for me – I stop and wonder at the beauty and power of slow, precise footfalls.

I am beginning to find more peace in the noise and live in it. Yesterday I did so for as long as it took for my feathered friends to get to greener grass. Funny, we were headed for the same thing.

Unemployable

I have reached an age where I know for a fact that technology is outpacing me. As my husband and sister read this, they are cackling because I am the least tech-savvy and tech-interested person in their families.

I have mentioned to friends and strangers that one of the deep-seated reasons I support the Women’s Employment Network is because I am convinced that I am going to have to utilize their amazing services if this dream business I share with my sister ever fails. The main reasons: I really don’t know how to make a PowerPoint display, and I can get easily tripped up on implementing calculations in Excel. Clearly, I will need to be trained for today’s workforce.

Unemployable in today’s society. That’s me.

Thank the goddess I am an entrepreneur.

September starts our busiest four months of the year at STUFF. Right now, I am buried up to my eyeballs in paper, cardboard, pricing labels and spreadsheets. Casey, my partner in crime, is buried in artist product, display ideas, and training of current employees and possible new hires. It is a killer month that we love…and live through.

Last month in New York, on our morning walk to work, I saw two men sorting – by color! – empty glass bottles. The street on which they had set up shop was closed due to the construction of a new subway stop. They had found a tree for shade and were color-sorting glass and stacking it. The sound of their endeavors caught me first and found me fumbling for my camera. Not only were they helping to save the planet, they were working quickly and efficiently in a makeshift work environment. What the end result of their work was, I do not know and did not ask.

My mind raced to these images yesterday when I had set up a work station for myself on three cardboard boxes right outside my office door and was holding the papers from blowing in the fan with a tack into the cardboard. An hour later, I thought of those men as my sister climbed the stairs with her hand drill, cell phone, stuffed file folder, and cup of iced coffee. She, too, was setting up shop and getting to work where she needed to be, which was not at her desk.

She amazed me because she had brought her phone to work. Mine? Well, mine was way over there next to the keyboard of my computer, being charged. Someone had forgotten to charge it over night. Understandable. She must have been really busy.

p.s. These men had me mesmerized. Look at how tidy their work space is. The boxes are lined up perfectly and practically squared to the curb. Right there on 35th Street just west of 9th Avenue.

Resolutions

New Year’s resolutions have never held an allure for me. I don’t make them. Never have. I can’t imagine that, after several months of revelry and celebration …

New Year’s resolutions have never held an allure for me. I don’t make them. Never have. I can’t imagine that, after several months of revelry and celebration, you will change all your behaviors in the turn of a calendar page; that just seems far fetched. Un-doable. Heck, it’s ripe for failure, and who needs that?

For the past 10 years, the month of August has found me battling desires to change due to travel. My family has our vacation in early August, and somewhere during those two weeks of slower pace and solace I find myself thinking about how I will change my ways when I get home. The ideas range from speed-of-life to intake-of-food to time-spent-relaxing during the rest of the year.

This year I actually pondered the fact that I do not own casual clothes. I have the clothes I work in and the clothes I exercise in, but I do not own sweatpants or whatever it is that people lounge in at home after a long day…clothes you could actually answer the door in (and they wouldn’t be your PJs). I also reached deep into the bottom of my psyche and discovered that basically I am either moving or at a full stop. As in: I work and play in one set of clothes, and, when it is time to read and sleep, I am in pajamas – fully showered and ready to sleep. There is no in between for me. I spent days thinking about this in the quiet of my chair on the beach and on the patio. It was easy to do in a swimsuit or a sarong. Nothing to bind me too tightly.

Usually soon after returning from Florida, I travel to New York every August with my sister for business. I love New York. Deeply. It does not scare me with its noise, scale or vibrancy. It does not make me feel un-cool for not living there. It does not make me feel lessened. However, it does make me want to go home and live a fuller life. It makes me want to walk to work and shop for groceries in smaller batches. It makes me yearn for public transportation and bakeries.

And then the month is over. So far, I have not hunted down new clothes for relaxing. Vacation is well over, and the bra is back on. I have not walked to work one time. We are shopping for groceries in smaller batches, but probably because grocery shopping has somehow become one of my least favorite things. I have not ridden the bus to work, because it doesn’t seem to want to take the route to drop my son at school, swing by Office Depot, and possibly run by the coffee shop to replace the iced tea I left sitting on the counter at home in my rush and bustle. The beautiful part of all of this is that my rich, full life is still just that. And, not having attempted actual and broadly stated resolutions, I have not failed at them.

That leaves bakeries.

p.s. Plant photos were captured in August in New York, Kentucky, Tennessee and Florida. I imagine that their resolutions were to bloom and grow. Right where they are.

shufords 2 — One of my favorite photos from vacation. The vine is clearly looking to block the drive thru…making us all slow down.

Business or Pleasure?

Last week, my sister and I traveled to New York City for a business trip.

Last week, my sister and I traveled to New York City for a business trip. Business travel is different from pleasure travel. Pleasure travel has a certain speed to it, usually relaxed. However, when we travel to New York, it is hard to tell the difference because we love the city so much. We keep a rapid and packed schedule, but we find time to enjoy the tiny, minute and forgotten pieces of the Big Apple while taking in all the big, loud and spectacular.

When I got home, I was sent a survey from a hotel chain that my husband and I use and for which we collect points. One of the questions was something along the lines of, “How often do you stay overnight for business and how much for pleasure?”

Another great building facade in the middle of a block.

I was stymied only in that I count New York as both – in the same trip! – and there was no check box for that.

My favorite neon on the trip, as seen in the mirror.

Enjoy these photos. Of course we had fun, but we’ve been mixing business with pleasure for so long it’s a blurry mess in our heads.

Our "desk" in the hotel lobby. — Our “desk” in the hotel lobby.

Have a great week.

Addiction and Plastic

There are many things I have slowly given up over time. Diet Coke. Peanut M&Ms. High fructose corn syrup. Some have been easy to let go of, and others, well, others can haunt me and rear their ugly little addicting heads. It is still hard not to want an icy Diet Coke at the movie theater, and I will be honest: I haven’t completely kicked the M&Ms. A bowl of the colorful happiness at a party will find my hand. However, I no longer purchase these items for personal consumption.

I digress. This story was to be about my current fascination with Iced Black Tea from Starbucks and my reuse of their trenta-sized cup. I believe reuse is the best of “The Three R’s” – reduce, reuse and recycle. If you are already reducing your usage, then reusing what you do have before recycling it is the pinnacle, for me anyway.

My husband and I have been recycling in our home for over 20 years. When we bought our first “home”, our loft downtown, one of the first things we designed into the kitchen was our recycling center. I have written previous blogs about our recycling commitment at home, my business has a full page on our website dedicated to our Green Policies, and – again last week – my husband and I drove our recycling through seven states to be able to get it into the correct bin. I like to think our fervor makes us committed to the cause, not crazy. Fine line, I suppose.

My new love – addiction, if you must – of iced black tea is probably the caffeine. I have never been a coffee drinker, but I did consume gallons of Diet Coke for years and years. It propelled me through my career in politics and pushed me right into entrepreneurship with my sister.

A year ago, I felt like I needed a little something to jump start my day again, with Diet Coke now 10 years behind me. At first I thought it was mental – this is my response to most things bordering on addiction – and that I needed to ignore it and move along. And I did just that for years. I have always had a lifelong love of iced water – and continue to drink major amounts of it daily – but it just seemed like my taste buds and my energy system wanted more.

But how do I balance my desire to save Mother Earth by consuming less while ordering iced teas in plastic cups? Even the little #6 in the cutie triangle telling me the cup was recyclable didn’t make my use of it justified. I need to use less plastic everyday. Every. Single. Day.

Then I found out I could re-use my cup at Starbucks – and they will give you money off for doing so! – and that changed everything. I am currently reusing a cup I got four weeks ago. My promise to Starbucks and my local barista is that I will not let the cup get junky looking or stained. I rinse it constantly and wash it occasionally, and I am still reusing the original lid and straw. (I even put my own iced tea from home in it when time is of the essence.)

I have managed to find a way to manage my current addiction with my desire to be one of the people to slowly change the world.

It took me a while. But I got there.

p.s. When ordering iced black tea in the South – let’s say on vacation driving through Florida, Georgia and Tennessee – be prepared to answer the question, “Do you want it sweetened?” more than once. They really, really love their sweet tea and looked at me like the Yankee I am when my answer was repeatedly, “No thank you.”

p.s.s. You can only reuse your cup if you go to a counter at Starbucks. My advice: don’t attempt this move when they are super-swamped. I am not a “rush hour” tea drinker, so this has worked out for me really, really well.

Just Google It

This vacation found my husband and me on a two-day car trip to get to our destination and a subsequent two days to get back. My husband’s phone makes it so easy to “google” the best. This time, the search results were delicious.

This vacation found my husband and me on a two-day car trip to get to our destination and a subsequent two days to get back. I like car trips. I learned a long time ago that trips are about the journey AND the destination.

Inside Champy's in Chattanooga, TN. — Inside Champy’s in Chattanooga, TN.

I have never been good about pre-planning meals on the road. Since becoming a parent, the best I have ever done is pack picnics to either eat in the car at 80 miles per hour or consume at state rest stops, which are still my preferred places to relieve myself and stretch my legs en route. (Gas stations gross me out, and fast food joints are no longer places we frequent.)

Shuford's in Chattanooga, TN. — Shuford’s in Chattanooga, TN.

This trip, we planned where we would be sleeping in advance, but food didn’t make it onto the itinerary. Being terribly busy before we left is my only excuse. However, my husband’s Internet access through his phone makes it so easy to “google” phrases like the following:

“best fried chicken chattanooga” and “best BBQ chattanooga”

The vine can't read! — The vine can’t read!

I then continue to fly down the interstates and he reads the results. Our only other requirement is that the joints we pick are locally owned, but that can be discerned when you click on their websites, which we highly recommend. This time, the search results were delicious. On the way down to Florida, we at the “best fried chicken” in Chattanooga at Champy’s and, two weeks later, on our 27th wedding anniversary, we ate the “best BBQ” in Chattanooga at Shuford’s on our way home.

The self-serve tea at Shuford's. Yep. I like mine "un". Sweetened, that is. — The self-serve tea at Shuford’s. Yep. I like mine “un”. Sweetened, that is.

I am sharing a few pictures here, but the shots of our actual BBQ does not do the food justice. I am a die-hard BBQ fan – raised religiously by devout BBQ parents – and swear by Kansas City style BBQ and our sauces. However, the pork sandwich I had at Shuford’s was the best pork I have ever eaten. Smoked to perfection – no nasty liquid smoke – and lightly sauced. It was served “southern” style with the cole slaw on the softest bun imaginable. That is a combo I like, and the ratio was perfect. (My husband is such a pig he had to follow up his pulled pork sandwich with a beef brisket number, and he sang its praises as well. Brisket is hard to do well.)

My sandwich at Shuford's — My sandwich at Shuford’s

My husband's. — My husband’s sandwich #1.

I did not take food shots of our fried chicken at Champy’s. I’m not a huge fan of taking pictures of my food, and was so blown away by the authenticity of our surroundings and the local flavor of the joint that I didn’t stop to point the camera at our plates. However, the really fun aspect of Champy’s is that they serve 40-ounce ice cold beers in bottles and, if you are a regular, you pull down your jumbo coozie cover from the clotheslines full of them throughout the restaurant. Most of them had been customized for the customer – by the customer! – and yours is waiting there when you return. Charming. (I was delighted by my petite 12 oz. Miller Lite sans coozie.)

My mother raised us to “get off the interstate” whenever we can because that’s where the magic lies. We were hell-bent for the beach, so the interstate was our speedy route this time. My advice? Choose great locally-owned food joints off the interstate and let your data package be your guide.

p.s. Click on the links to learn more about these great American restaurants. They both had friendly staff, and neither place will let you down. I promise.

Pretty much my favorite sign at Shuford's. — Pretty much my favorite sign at Shuford’s.

The Mother Lode

Our son returns Monday from a three week trip to China. Since he was small, I have jumped upon his times away from home as perfect chances for me to tidy up his things. A few days ago, I hit the motherlode.

Our son returns today from a three week trip to China. He loves to travel, and this trip, with his aunts, cousins and uncles, has been no different. We have Skyped with him three times, but only two really count due to a rural location for him and a bad Internet during one session. (It was like talking to Neil Armstrong on the moon!) He has sent a few emails from his aunt’s computer, but mostly it has been radio silence from him.

His smiles on the phone screen have been radiant as he shares stories and jokes. Pixelated conversations are hard, and when he tried to show us photographs on his camera through the computer call, it was all blurry.

Time is flying by for this kid, our only child. His last two years of high school start in a month, he got his first “real” job this summer, he now plans his own volunteering, he is learning to drive, and three weeks of travel away from us had him smiling on Skype two days ago.

Since he was small, I have jumped upon his times away from home as perfect chances for me to tidy up his things. He does a pretty good job of keeping his things in order, but the crevices, containers and dump bins need the occasional scrubbing.

A few days ago, I hit the mother lode. In the “Potential To Make The Mom Cry” category, this find was in the Top Five. Squirreled way in the bottom of a drawer were his business cards. The business cards he made for himself when he must have been five years old.

I remember the day he came home from visiting my mother and had the paint samples in his tiny hands. They had been to Home Depot, and he had scored a few freebies in the paint department. I remember remarking about them and asking what he was going to do with them – and why there were so many. I probably sprinkled in a little bit of “waste” and “these things cost money,” and then we moved on. I never saw them again after that discussion.

In my mind’s eye, I can see him in his little denim overalls and bright T-shirt reaching for the ones he liked best. Taking a moment to choose correctly. Possibly being limited by what he could reach. Maybe asking for help. He is still a child that loves all colors, and I can imagine this whole process was magical.

I took pictures of each of the cards today, and, when I loaded them onto the computer, I stopped to look at them all. To mourn the passing of his little script forced from pudgy hands. To grieve the little bit of tongue he stuck out past his lips while accomplishing difficult tasks. What struck me deeply was how, on each card, he played with the graphic design. I noticed how each card is different while the copy is almost the same. Initials vs. full name? Three initials or four? The battle was most likely epic with his tongue taking most of the punishment.

To this mom, the discovery in my own home was perfect. Just what I needed to remind me that, since he was born, he has been moving away from us. He has been moving towards new adventures. New places. New people.

And on this day, with this collection of evidence, I realized he was moving toward a career even at five years old. He even took the time to make business cards.

p.s. A few years ago I cleaned a closet in his room while he was away. Click here to see what happened.